The House Was Built For You

The hand trembles on the knob, afraid that turning it will prove you are too heavy to hold. You brace for the flinch, the sigh, the quiet calculation of your cost.

But listen — the light does not weigh you before it welcomes you. It sees the trembling and calls it honesty, not burden.

There is a room inside you where no one has ever said you were too much. Split a piece of wood, and the light is there.

Lift a stone, and you find it waiting. You are not a problem to be solved by the people on the other side of this door.

You are a drop from the light, sent here to illuminate the very space you fear occupying. The lock turns not because you earned the right to enter, but because the house was built for you.

The fear says you are too much trouble. The truth says you are the reason the door exists.